Die Another Day
by respektor
Summary: After the outbreak of influenza, Chicago is left paralyzed.  Edward and Bella have to find each other before it becomes too late and one is lost forever…
1. Bye Bye Blackbird

**Author's Note**: This is going to replace my other anachronistic fic, because I actually have a plot for this one. The other, I was making up as I went along, and I'm sort of in a rut. Oh, well, onward!

**Disclaimer**: Obviously, I am not the _original_ author of this series. Haha, can you imagine writing fanfiction to your own novel?

**May 28, 1918**

It was Sunday. As a general rule, I loathed Sundays. They had an annoying tendency to be overly sunny and lethargic. My family sat at home and accomplished absolutely nothing. Excepting the bakeries, the stores were all closed. You could feel the emotions in the air: dread and resignation. Another week starting the next day and there was nothing whatsoever one could do to stop it.

This Sunday, however, promised to be exponentially better than most. I have always thought that after I celebrate my twentieth birthday, I would refuse to celebrate or even acknowledge any birthday after that. Why should I celebrate getting old and rheumatic? But, Mr. Masen, and my parents as well, for that matter, still somehow found joy in aging. The Masens would be coming over for dinner this evening, seeing as it was Mr. Masen's birthday.

I fancy myself rather good at simple mathematics. Mr. Masen and my father served in the same regiment during the Spanish-American War. They were both 18 when they joined, in 1898…Mr. Masen was 20 when he married Mrs. Masen in 1900, which means that in 1901, when their son Edward was born, he was 21 years old. That means that tonight he would be 'celebrating' his thirty-eighth birthday.

I lived in a fairly modest house in Chicago, on a quiet little street. Well…I suppose it wasn't really all _that_ modest if I were to be truthful. My mother, Renee, even when her mood shifts, has two undying passions: her home, and everyone's outward appearance. She refuses to let our elderly maid, Agatha, do anything but menial tasks. Sometimes, my mother even does those. She is completely in charge of what goes into each room, how each room is decorated, and even how I fold my clothes.

It was her second passion, outward appearance, which she was advocating this particular morning.

"Your-hair'" she grunted, "is completely-and utterly-unmanageable." She yanked the boar bristle brush through my hair once more.

"Ouch! I won't have any left for you to worry about if you keep brushing this way!"

We were sitting, well, I was sitting, and she was standing behind me, at my vanity table. It was a quaint little table, a sort of dull green with a drawer in the middle, and a scene of birds and a little river painted on. I stared forlornly at my reflection in the three fold mirror.

It was a rare occasion that my mother attempted the formidable: making me look presentable. It was usually when we had company, company whose opinion she valued, or when a potential suitor stopped by. But they had all given up ages ago. She patted my shoulder affectionately.

"I suppose this is as much as I can do…hair wise, that is." I groaned as she walked to my closet.

"Here," she threw a pair of my thinner white hose at me. "Put these on," she pulled out my most horridly Victorian dress with lace up leather boots and frilly petticoats. "Then come down and help me prepare for dinner."

She closed the door and I grimaced at my clothes. I may not be the most fashionable person around, but in the matters of comfort I am well versed.

I traded in the white stockings for a silk, flesh colored pair. Next, I made my way to the armoire and threw open the doors. With the war on, it was hard to come by colored fabrics. Before the war, my dresses were all different colors: I had pastel yellow and lavender, ocean blue, sea foam green, pinks, reds, and a plethora of white. Now, since I have long outgrown those dresses, I have mainly drab, boring colors. Plenty of black and grey. I had two evening gowns, one that was my mothers and surprisingly fashionable, and one that I made myself with material I've hoarded since the start of the war. I also have three colored outfits for the day: one in a bluish color, one in a vivid red, and one a light green color.

I opted to wear the gown I made. It was sleeveless and made of ivory tulle and fell midcalf, with split paneling in the skirt. It was a show of how boring my days were that I'd taken the time to sew on milkglass and glass seed beads…I'd compensated for the boredom by listening to the gramophone while I worked. I had only just finished the gown, and tonight would be the first time I wore it. It had taken me just over two years. (that was a testament to how slow a worker I was)

I wouldn't normally take so much time with my wardrobe, but tonight was a special night. As previously mentioned, the Masens were coming over. I don't know why, really, but I always felt that I had to look nice, act accordingly, and be a proper lady whenever they were over.

I'm not really sure why that is, though. I've known that family virtually since birth. My father and Mr. Masen both served in the same regiment during the Spanish-American War. After the war, they both, coincidentally, settled within blocks of each other in Chicago. This wasn't discovered until 1902, January.

Mrs. Masen was going to Bramm's, the bookstore on our block, with little baby Edward in his pram. My mother, barely pregnant with me, was also in said bookstore. They were both on a quest for the classic Victorian book, "Enquire Within Upon Everything". They started talking and figured out the connection between their husbands.

After that, things became ritual. Our mothers would get together every few days to have tea and chat about things ladies liked to chat about. Our father would get together and reminisce about 'the old days', as they were always called. Once I was born, Edward and I would playfully beat each other up and steal each others toys…until, of course, he realized what he was doing and became the chivalrous man he is today.

Our fathers work together, on occasion. My father will assist in the capture of some dangerous lunatic, who Mr. Masen will then prosecute and put into jail. Perhaps twice a month, plus special occasions, our families will have dinner together.

Edward and I knew everything about each other. He knew that even though my mother infuriated me sometimes, I loved her dearly. I knew that the reason he beat up James Orson was because James said that only pansies read Virginia Woolf. That was when he was 14, and I 13.

Edward was the brother that I'd never had, protective and caring and witty. He was the only person my age with whom I could hold an intelligent conversation, and he valued my opinion and _listened_ to me. I only wish things could stay this way forever.

Author's Note, Numero Dos: So, what did you think? Please, please, let me know…Oh! Yes, the dress…My life is so boring that I spent forever trying to find one I liked…just replace 'dot' with '.'

http://wwwdotthefrockdotcom/FWpage3maindothtml


	2. Where'd You Get Those Eyes?

**Author's Note:** Another chapter, because I couldn't stop thinking about this story. I'll probably dream about it tonight, as well. I should _really_ be thinking about the modern day celebrity equivalent to Eris, but…oh well.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Twilight. You're silly if you think that for some reason I do.

It was promptly 6:50 when I heard the rapping on the brass knocker at the door. A few moments later, our 'butler', Enoch, announced the arrival of the Masen family.

Our hired help was dismally small, according to my mother. It was just women: Agatha, our all-around maid and housekeeper; Peggy, who did our cooking; and Lydia, who helped with the washing. We had one male servant, Enoch, who had fought in the Civil War…with the South, no less. When I was younger, he used to tell me tales of the war. He had served in a regiment from Texas, and was always reminiscing about his old battle buddies, as he called them. I remembered them all: Barnabas, the ladies man; Julius, the drinker; Jasper, the enigmatic one; Perry, the one destined to do great things…and now they were most likely dead. Just like one day the rest of us would be.

Anyway, after Enoch announced them, the Masens followed him into the parlor.

"Oh, Betsy!" My mother jumped up from the settee and embraced Mrs. Masen. "It's been too long, dear." They started in right away gossiping.

My father put down his pipe and clapped Mr. Masen on his back. "Eh, Edward, firm holding up well? The old battle wound not giving you any undue trouble, I hope?" They followed the matriarchs into the dining room.

Edward and I were left staring at each other, grinning like fools. He looked very nice, I have to admit. He was in the fashionable slim fitting trousers of the day, along with the tuxedo top.

"'lo Edward." I beamed.

"Hello, Bella."

I rushed at him after a moment and caught him up in what I hoped was a bone crushing hug, though I had my doubts. He patted my back awkwardly.

"I haven't seen you in _ages_," I started, "how've you been getting along?"

He took me by the elbow and we ambled in to join the adults.

"I've been faring…adequately. You? Did you read the book I had sent over?" he asked. By this time we had caught up with our respective parents, and we entered the dining room with them. 

"To be honest, I actually found it quite misogynistic." Edward threw back his head and laughed.

"I knew you would. I thought you would enjoy it, in a perverse way." He held out my seat, and pushed it in as I sat down.

I scowled at him. "I feel ten times less intelligent now for having read it. Well, not less intelligent, but I cannot honestly believe that "Samson Agonistes" portrays the true character of women."

He grinned. "Perhaps not." At that moment, the basted fish was served, and all conversation was momentarily lost.

"Mmm, it smells delightful, Peggy. You truly are a gem." My mother said. Peggy blushed and hurriedly left the room.

My father swallowed his fish and took a sip of water before turning to Mr. Masen.

"So, Edward," he began, "what do you make of this Sedition Act?" I noticed peripherally that Edward (the younger) leaned forward the tiniest bit.

Edward's father, Edward also (its all so confusing) chewed his food thoughtfully before replying.

"I don't see, Charles, how it can truly be passed. It's completely unconstitutional. It violates the First Amendment directly. 'Congress shall make no law... abridging the freedom of speech, or the press'" He quoted.

Edward could contain himself no longer. "But it's for the good of the country! If known spies and traitors still had every resource available to them Lord only knows what would happen." He put down his fork and continued. "If the general public was allowed to abuse the troops and the flag and this country, we would cease to be America!"

" 'Loose lips sink ships'," I muttered.

I saw my mother and Mrs. Masen exchange glances. I could tell what was going through their mind: politics. Every dinner we had turned out this way.

The discussion turned into a spirited argument over Woodrow Wilson.

"He's a socialist," Mr. Masen said. My father nodded in agreement.

I coughed daintily. Everyone looked over at me, surprised. "I believe…he has good ideas, but he is rather too idealistic. In a utopia, his plans would work."

"If people weren't such animals, it _would _be a utopia," Edward said. I shrugged.

"I suppose so."

My mother sighed and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "It's been nearly an hour. Can't we talk about something else?"

"Of course, dear," My father acquiesced. He knew it wasn't good for his health, to become so worked up. The parents started in on some conversation about the cinema. I turned slightly towards Edward.

"Will you register for the draft?" I must have sounded hopeful, only in a 'I hope you _don't_' kind of way. Edward stared for a minute, his eyes boring into mine.

"Yes," he finally answered. He turned away. "The next registration is June fifth."

I sighed. "Twenty three days until you're eighteen. Do your parents know?" I hadn't realized we were whispering until now.

"Well…" he bit his lip, "they know about the registration, but they don't know I _want_ to go."

I sighed once more, picking at a cuticle and staring at my food. I looked up once more and met his eyes.

"We'll have to get a photograph taken, before you go away." He smirked.

"Of course. And I'll need one of you, to remind me to not be misogynistic."

"Ha, you wouldn't be anyway." At that moment coffee and tea was brought in, and our conversation was interrupted.

I looked up and met Mrs. Masen's eye. She smiled lightly at me, and I turned away. I didn't see the meaningful glance she gave my mother; I was too intent on the delightful, beautiful brew known as coffee.


	3. Lonesome Lovesick Blues

**Authors Note**: Gah! My biggest pet peeve is when authors say "I won't put out a new chapter until I get 15 reviews for this chapter". It pisses me off. I was reading one that said…not until 85-90 reviews!!! Double-yoo Tee Eff, Man. Do they just write for praise? ;sjaflaskjfd. Anyway. Rant over. Tell me if I got Edward's character right…I wasn't sure if I made him overthink things enough. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight, silly.

It was after Edward and his family had left, and I was sitting with my mother in the drawing room. All the windows were thrown wide open and a cool breeze rifled through my hair.

My mother fanned herself with her hand. I felt her scrutinizing my face.

"You know, Bella," she began, "when I was your age-"

"-you were married." I supplied.

She pursed her lips. "Well, I was." She leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Edward's mother told me that that _awful_ charity Vole has been after him."

I groaned inwardly. Charity Vole is the most insipid, empty headed twit I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. She's had her claws out for Edward for years.

No one would every really deserve him. No one would know how he likes his tea fixed (black, 1 sugar cube), or what types of books he reads (any he can get his hands on), or what music he listens to (ditto to books, though he secretly has a penchant for the trumpet).

They wouldn't know what to cook him, what his signs of annoyance are, what makes him explicitly happy. No one else could hold long conversations on the Oedipus complex, D.W. Griffin's works, no one else would know that he is not really interested in law, that he wants to travel the world. No one else sneaks to the swimming hold with him, or teaches him bits of Russian…except for me.

My mother seemed to notice my absence of a reply. She smiled.

"Mother," I said through clenched teeth, "we are friends. And I refuse to put that relationship in jeopardy. Besides," I sniffed, "if he chooses some one like Charity Vole," I couldn't help but sneer the name, "then he deserves what comes to him."

Oh, how I longed to wipe that satisfied smirk off of my mothers face. She was worse than the blasted Cheshire Cat.

She stood, pausing at the door. "His parents are encouraging him to start seeing a girl. Think about _that_ the next time you sneak off to the swimming hole thinking I don't know what you're up to." She stalked from the room, smugness radiating from her every pore.

**Edward's Point of View:**

We were walking home; father had donated the car to be used for scrap metal. Besides, my mother insisted that exercise cleansed the soul.

"Well," my father said, "that was a pleasant evening."

I laughed to myself. Pleasant didn't begin to cover it. There was something about the Swan house that exuded cheerfulness and joviality. I always felt welcome there.

I suppose that more so than the actual house, it is the people inside of it. Chief Swan with his neatly trimmed beard and moustache, and his ever present pipe; he seems to always be smiling.

Then there is Mrs. Swan, Bella's slightly erratic mother. Always hovering, making little comments (what a _darling_ little jacket! What excellent boiled potatoes!). She looks rather like a doe: wide eyed and innocent.

And then there is Bella. Ah, Bella. To the untrained eye, she is the epitome of femininity. Well-bred, well-dressed, beautiful, patriotic, and obedient. But to those who know her well, which, I surmise, is only me, she is anything but. More inclined to have her nose in Orson Wells than to be found swinging a parasol, she is opinionated, and expects her opinion to be respected.

She is a rebel who disobeys all rules of decorum. She wears her hair down and accompanies me to the swimming hole. She is the most fascinating person I know, and each second I spend with her, I become more and more intrigued.

We were on the tail-end of our walk home. My father broke stride to walk next to me.

"Edward," he said as made our way up the stone steps to our front door. He pulled out a latch-key and we stepped over the threshold. "It is high time that you think about your future. Will you be following me into the family business?"

I grimaced. This was an uncomfortable question. I chose to hide from it as best I could.

"Er-I don't know, Father."

My father furrowed his brow. "You know what you need in life, Edward. A satisfying job, a lovely wife," here he grasped my mother about the waist and she smiled into his eyes, "a well kept house, obedient children, and religious and intellectual satisfaction. I trust you are mature enough to make your own decisions."

He clapped me on the shoulder and he and my mother ascended the stairs, leaving me to think in the entryway. What did I want in life? I agreed with many of his points, though some I deemed unnecessary.

"A satisfying job" came first. A lawyer seemed so dry, so stuffy. I wanted to be a hero in the war, maybe be awarded the Bronze Star, but after that I just don't know what I want to do. Something in medicine, perhaps. A linguist? I am rather good at French. I would like to play the piano, though I know that is just a folly of mine.

"A lovely wife" was next. I pondered this as I laboriously made my way up the stairs into my room. I washed my face then collapsed into bed, still deep in thought. I wanted a wife who could be my equal. I wanted her to have similar tastes as me, yet be able to open my mind to new things. My thoughts flew instantly to Bella. Over the last few months, I have begun to notice a subtle change in me.

I now notice her more aesthetic qualities. The even tone of her skin, the way her hair shines and waves. How straight and white her teeth are, and how utterly elegant her neck looked in the gown she was wearing at dinner. I suppose the biggest shock was when she hugged me and I had the insatiable urge to kiss her madly.

I knew it was foolish of me, that I should never think of her as more than a sister, for she would surely never think of me as more than a brother.

**Authors note**: FUNNY STORY! So, I walked into orchestra today, and this GUY named Aaron goes "I can't believe she broke her hand! That made me laugh so hard!" I did a double take. I was like…seriously? And yup, sure 'nuff he was holding a copy of Eclipse. Wow.


End file.
